The Good Sinner's Naughty Nun (11 page)

"And miss out on all this, splendid maleness?" He gestured down at his body. "You know why you saved me,
Sister
Vivienne. You like my particular brand of sin."

"You might be a sinner, Thierry Bonnenfant," she exclaimed, leaning in to kiss his damp lips. "But you're an honest one. If there could be such a thing."

Her little kiss—surprisingly sweet—had a dizzying effect, increased by the fact that when he reached for her she slid backward, out of his grasp and stood, turning away. With a swift pang of disappointment, he thought she was leaving the cottage.

Was she now becoming prudish suddenly? The fisherman and his wife had given them half an hour alone to bathe and there was still plenty of time left.

Then, to his relief she began to remove her tattered garments, dropping them to floor and stepping out of them as she untied her hair and let it fall down her back.

Thierry caught his breath, that spark of delight never lessening each time he saw all that splendor unleashed.

* * * *

"Move over then."

Instead he parted his legs so that she must sit between them, her knees drawn together. her toes under his buttocks. It was a small tub, not made for more than one person and Thierry's size filled most of it.

Bishop Ravillard's son. She was still trying to accept what he'd told her. She searched his face for similarities. Perhaps there, in the arch of his proud nose. Other than that there was nothing to remind her of the monster who ruled her life for seven years. Fortunately. Thierry was Thierry. There was no one else like him in the world.

The Bishop would think her drowned at sea. She was free at last. The thought made her afraid suddenly. All this time she'd longed for freedom and now she had it, what would she do with it?

His hands cupped her bottom, lifted her forward and then she felt his cock, erect and waiting for her. The lukewarm water made everything slick and supple already and the penetration was easy. From that angle, with her feet dangling over his shoulders, her pussy primed and positioned directly over his manhood, it was also deeper than ever, a thorough possession. She wrapped her arms around his neck and left him take control as he lifted and lowered her on his shaft.

His soft moans bit into her shoulder and she kissed his neck, his ear.

"Just what I needed," he joked gently, "after the day I've had."

She knew the wreck and the loss of his men had shattered him. Vivienne wanted to bring comfort in any way she could. Let the mourning come later; he needed her to take care of him now. He lifted her higher against his body and leaned back. Now her pussy rested on his belly and she felt the broad head of his phallus bobbing against her buttocks, while his hands kneaded her cheeks and his breathing changed to that heady rasp. Her legs slid from his shoulders, down over his arms. She sat straighter and offered her breasts to his mouth. He briefly buried his face between them, kissing and nibbling at her dewy skin. Then he took her right nipple between his lips and suckled, a low purr of delight squeezing out of him. She knew what he really wanted, of course. Her virgin entrance. But for that she'd make him wait until tonight when they would sleep together in the hayloft, masquerading as man and wife. For now she moved her hips, rubbing her pussy over the hard ridges of his stomach.

His sucking became frenzied, his hands trembling around her buttocks. Finally he lowered her again onto his rod. Her nipple slipped from his mouth and he whispered her name as she sank onto him.

* * * *

Looking down into the water, he watched his cock disappear into her cunt, inch by slow inch. Savoring the pleasure, he kept her poised a moment then drew her back up as she was half way down his staff. She tensed, mewling with need, making him smile at her eagerness to be filled and mounted. Once again he proceed to lower her onto his dick, only to pause and raise her, enjoying the tease, suddenly finding his arms were not nearly so tired as he'd thought. The undulating water intensified all sensation, every kiss, every lick seemed repeated all over his body. Time to lower her again a little way. First her pussy lips, spread around his cock, touched the surface on re-entry, then the tiny silken curls of her pubic hair. Again he stopped, raised her a half inch. Then another. Her eyes were wild now, the look in them such as he would see in his horse when he let it out to run in the paddock after the training field. She arched forward. He thought she meant to kiss him and he opened his lips for it, but instead she lowered her head further and bit his nipple. Lightening shot through his body to his cock. That did it. He grunted, pushing his hips upward to meet her, ready to lose himself in that stupendous carnal delight.

Whatever was in that box of relics, he mused, the real treasure had been here all along. And now it belonged to him.

* * * *

The fisherman's wife, Edyth, found them dry clothes and Vivienne soon made herself useful helping to prepare supper, while Thierry talked with the woman's husband, ascertaining as much as he could about their surroundings, asking where they might find horses to borrow. She heard the fisherman say that his nephew was taking a cart to market in the nearest large town early tomorrow. He could take them that far, if they desired it, and they might find horses there.

Vivienne felt a sense of ease about this place and had begun to fantasize about staying there forever, but she was not foolish enough to think this was any more than a fantasy. Bonnenfant wanted to get back to his life, discover what happened to his men. He was a lord with property, a nobleman of importance. A humble fisherman's life was not for him.

He was a generous fellow too, she thought with a sigh, and he liked to share that beauty, as well as his remarkable skills, with many women. He was not the sort to settle down with only one.

"How did you meet?" the smiling lady inquired.

Vivienne made up a hasty story and embellished it well with romance to please the fisherman's wife. "I am his father's ward. We have known each other since childhood and were always in love."

"Ah yes. I can see that." The good lady nodded. "I see the love between you."

Laughing nervously, Vivienne looked over and caught Thierry's eye. He hadn't heard their conversation, but he smiled and winked at her.

Her heart dropped to her knees and somehow dragged its way back up again, still beating.

She'd never been in love, imagined it was perhaps only something made up by minstrels and jongleurs. But it would account for the torn feelings she suffered—the anger one moment, confusion the next. Joy simply when he smiled at her.

This would not do at all. She was appalled. When Edyth asked her to go out and look for mint in the herb garden, she was glad of the chance to slip outside and cool her cheeks.

The cottage sat on a slight hill overlooking the water. A narrow, muddy lane wove its way to a cluster of similar thatched homes and animal pens further along the bay. The sun was just lowering beyond the horizon of a calm sea, no sign remaining of that ugly storm. She wandered down to the water's edge and walked along by the reeds and bulrushes, her mind running sultry fingers over her conversation with the fisherman's wife.

She sincerely hoped Thierry Bonnenfant had no clue about her feelings for him. That would be disastrous. He would mock her and then run away as fast as he could. Under no circumstances could he desire a deeper bond with her—the whore who was sent to thwart his mission. He probably still thought of her as the cause of all his bad luck, the witch that conjured the storm and killed his men.

He fucked her because, in his mind, that was all women were good for and she was currently available to him. That was all.

The fisherman's boat was tied up at the water's edge, bobbing gently, reeds brushing against its sides. A gull disturbed by her footsteps, flew up in a flurry of annoyed feathers and swooped off over the water. She watched it, her hand raised over her eyes, sheltering them from sudden glare of burnished sunset. When something nudged her foot, she looked down and saw a remnant of wood, part of a barrel. It must have drifted in the same direction as they had after the storm. Her heart ached as she stared at this piece of wreckage. Nausea rose up in her gullet. Closing her eyes tight, she pictured the soldier Dominic's scarred face. He had saved her last night from the grasping hands of the other men by the campfire. There was a quiet good in him, a patience few men had, and more than an ounce of humility that would not have gone amiss in many men she'd known. Would he wash up too somewhere along the shore? Sister Heloise, who had shown her kindness that morning, had she too been drowned? Why had
they
been saved—surely two of the worst sinners on board that ill-fated vessel?

It was too much. She hurried back to the cottage, not wanting to look further in the reeds for fear of what she might find.

Tomorrow, when she had more courage, she would tell Thierry and they would go together and look. Just for tonight she wanted to forget what had happened to put them there. She wanted to live her pleasant fantasy for one blessed night. Was that too much to ask?

She picked a handful of mint from the tangled herb garden and joined the others inside.

At supper they sat close. His hand touched her thigh beneath the table, that warm heaviness reminding her of all they had done together and the things they had yet to do. She wanted to try it all with him.

That night, laying together in the warm hayloft, she imagined they were true newlyweds. When he kissed her it was the with the protective warmth and affection of a besotted husband, and she ran her fingers through his hair with the nurturing care and adoration of a devoted wife.

"I am sorry about your men," she told him. "I hope they are not all dead."

"Yes. Let's not talk of that now."

She nodded, part of her relieved, part of her thinking he should talk of it and not let his pain fester inside. But how did she know what was best for this warrior? He'd seen a great many companions die in battle no doubt and had caused death with his own sword. It would not be the same to him as it was to her, and perhaps he knew best how to manage his grief and regret.

"Vivienne," he whispered, twisting her hair around his fingers and bringing it to his face. "You should wear a scarf from now on."

"Why?"

"I don't like other men seeing this hair. It should be for me only to enjoy."

She laughed lightly. "It is a good thing you will not know me when I am grey, like the fisherman's good wife. Then my one beauty will be gone."

His head rustled in the hay as he looked up at her, but he did not respond. Tonight his eyes were brooding, at times pensive. The desire to soothe his anxiety, rid him of worries, grew stronger by the moment. Vivienne had never thought of herself as the nurturing sort of woman, but suddenly that was what she longed to be. She stroked one finger along the stubble of his cheek.

"And you, Bonnenfant, will lose all your hair and grow a paunch. I daresay we would not recognize one another, twenty years from now. You might see me in a market somewhere and never know..."

He reached for her face and drew it down for a kiss, a lingering, thoughtful caress of firm lips to soft lips first, then shy tongue to cautious tongue.

"...the woman who once saved your life," she added.

A slow, unsteady smile pulled on the corners of his mouth, but still he said nothing.

Vivienne moved down his body and licked his cock from root to tip, before taking it in her mouth. Her hand gently held the sac, fingertips caressing the sensitive skin, feeling how it twitched and tightened. He still tasted of the herbs that had scented the bathwater and a little essence that was uniquely his. As he swelled in her mouth she increased the rhythm of her sucking, sliding her lips up and down, making him slick and lusty.

Again he whispered her name and she heard the plea in his voice. She moved around in the hay and set herself over his waiting mouth, lowering her head again to take him deep in her throat while he held her thighs and lapped at her pussy. Those strong, steady strokes brought her quickly to a groaning peak. His tongue traced a path to her anus and that skip of nervous excitement danced inside. She was heavy with want.

Bending over in the hay, she presented herself on all fours, hoping he would not see her tremble like a newborn foal. He readied his path with her sticky wetness. Combined with his own it dampened her back entrance enough to ease his way, slowly inside.